


A house is not a home when you don’t have someone to hold

by batteryat80percent



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Oneshot, They’re Just IN LOVE, i should be doing homework but its fine, i wrote this in a day oop, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batteryat80percent/pseuds/batteryat80percent
Summary: Based on the prompt: “Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard” au prompt I found on tumblrI just wanted to write more for these boys since I finished my last monster of a oneshot. Hope y’all enjoy.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 9
Kudos: 124





	A house is not a home when you don’t have someone to hold

Curt Mega was not a sappy person. 

He worked as a detective, of course he wasn’t. He had never quite really taken a step back to admire what he had before they were gone. 

His mother was one of those things. 

When she died, Curt was brought back to the harsh reality that life sucks, and it’s not getting better any time soon. 

That was months ago. This is now. Now, every Sunday (that was her favorite day) he walked down from his tiny apartment in Manhattan to the local graveyard to spend time with her, something he wished he had done more of when she was still living. 

He always intended to bring flowers, but he quite often forgot.  _ That _ was how he started the odd habit of grabbing flowers from a certain house’s garden. 

He wasn’t sure who lived in the house; had never seen them. But, the flowers were very pretty, and there were many there that his mom loved, so Curt accepted whatever punishment he might get one day and stole a couple. It become routine, steal the flowers, see Mom, maybe cry a little, and then go home to the apartment that barely felt like home. Home was with her, not some cramped apartment in Manhattan. 

It was a particularly somber day for Curt one afternoon. He had attempted to get into the dating scene as his mom had always wanted him to, mainly just out of respect for her. It had been only 6 months since she had gone, and Curt decided it was about time that he try to fulfill that request of hers. 

He remembered how disappointed she had been at first when he came out to her, something she got over eventually, as she had wanted grandchildren. Adoption was always an option, she reminded him often. 

Curt had attempted to go on a date with someone he met on the rather sad dating profile he had put out there, and it had failed rather miserably. He didn’t even want to think about it. 

So, Curt made his way to his Mom’s grave a day early, a Saturday, pure intention in his steps and pain in his soul. 

Up ahead, he saw the garden. of flowers in the garden, and while usually he was gentler to the flowers, he was not in a good mood, and tore up the roots without remorse. 

Right as he was about to continue what felt like a perilous journey to the graveyard, he heard a shout come from the side yard of the house. Curt froze. 

“Hey! Hey you! Stop!” Curt’s head snapped upwards, watching as a man stumbled towards him, avoiding the flowers in the garden to stand as close to Curt as he could without stepping on any. Curt’s first thought when he saw him, after the panic slightly settled down, was that this man was  _ hot _ . 

Not the best situation for the thought, though. 

“So you’re the one who’s been nabbing my flowers, huh?” The man’s tone caught Curt off guard, being amused more than anything. His accent was surprising too, smooth and English. It sent shivers down Curt’s spine. The man smirked. 

“I—uh…” Curt stumbles over his words as he fumbled for something to say. An excuse to make. The man only grinned wider. 

“It’s fine, love. At this point, I’m more intrigued at who the infamous flower thief is than anything.” Curt flushed at the pet name. He knew it was a common British term, but it made Curt flustered nonetheless. 

“U-uh I’m Curt. Curt Mega” He stuttered out once again, thrusting his hand out to shake. The other man took it firmly, and the two made eye contact during the handshake. His eyes were brown, like melting chocolate on a warm day. Like the brownies his mom used to make. 

“Owen. Owen Carvour.” 

Curt was reminded suddenly of where he had to be, and though he wanted to talk to the handsome stranger forever (though, were they even strangers now that they new each other’s names?), Curt knew he should go before he falls any deeper into those chocolate eyes. 

“I should probably get going, then…” Curt trailed off awkwardly as he struggled to find an appropriate end the the conversation. “It was nice meeting you.” Before Curt could speed off, Owen interrupted. 

“Ah ah ah, you didn’t think that you could get away with that so easily, did you?” His time was still warm, so Curt hoped that Owen wouldn’t sue him for property damage. 

And  _ boy _ , if he was going to damage some property, he would rather it be that neck—

_ Nope. Not going there.  _

Curt slowly turned back towards Owen with questioning gaze, panic still flowing throughout him. 

“Don’t look so scared dear, I’m not going to kill you.”  _ Better not, I’m a detective,  _ “But, I am interested. Just  _ how _ pretty is this girl you’re meeting to warrant flower theft?” 

Curt wanted to laugh for about 3 reasons. 1. He was headed to a cemetery. 2. His mom was a pretty woman. So… 3.  _ Girl?  _ Curt was gay as the Fourth of July. No girl. He literally thought the man he was talking to was the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, how could he ever think about a  _ girl _ . But he stayed silent, because how do you go about telling someone “ _ Oh no, these are for my mother’s grave. Thanks, though. _ ” 

“That’s it, I’m coming along. Consider me your wingman.” Owen maneuvered around the flowers, coming to stand next to Curt. Tentatively, Curt began to walk. 

“What do you do for a living?” Owen asked, starting up a conversation. Curt hummed. 

“I’m a detective.” He answered simply. 

“Neat. I’m a lawyer.” Curt raised an eyebrow. 

“A lawyer who gardens?” 

“Hey, don’t disrespect my hobbies. I may be gay as a child on Christmas, but gardening has been a thing I’ve done with my mom and sister ever since childhood.” Curt perked up at that. He was gay? Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance. 

“I meant no disrespect.” Curt paused for a moment, before continuing. “I’m gay too.” He got an astounded look from Owen at that. 

“Huh.” Owen looked away. “Wouldn’t have thought it of you.” He fidgeted for a moment, before speaking again. “Sorry I assumed—”

“It’s fine.” Curt interrupted. There was a beat of silence when the men didn’t know what to say, before Owen spoke up again. 

“I’m sort of glad now. Men are much more in my ballpark.” Curt nodded, unsure of how he should approach the subject of where exactly they were going. 

As they neared the cemetery, Curt began to feel nervous. How would Owen react when he found out that there wasn’t a girl or guy waiting for them? When he found out that it was just a stone in the ground, and that Curt had gone to mourn? Was he going to  _ cry _ ? He should have thought this out further instead of just submitting to the will of the handsome man before him. Typical Curt. 

When they approached the gates, Owen looked at him quizzically when he paused in front of the gates. 

“We’re here.” Curt said as he pushed passed the gates. It seemed like Owen wanted to question him, but he walked quickly away before that could occur. Curt made a beeline for the familiar gravestone, seeing the flowers that surrounded it in bunches. He heard Owen trailing behind him, and before he knew it, he was faced with his mother’s grave. 

Slowly, Curt laid the flowers by the others, kneeling before the grave. 

“Hey mom.” Curt smiled, feeling tears brimming in his eyes. “I came a day earlier today. I know your favorite day is Sunday, but I was having a rough day and I needed someone to talk to.” He sniffed a bit. “I finally got caught by the flower man. This’ll probably be the last bunch I can give you for a bit.” Curt laughs a bit. “He wanted to see what girl would be so beautiful to warrant me stealing his flowers. It’s funny, because you were beautiful.” His tone sombered again. “Dad shouldn’t have have taken you for granted. You were  _ beautiful _ .” 

There was a long pause, where Curt cried quietly. He felt a hand on his back, and looked up. Owen gazed back with a somber look. 

“You should’ve just told me that you were coming here. I wouldn’t have dragged my ass along.” Curt smiled, and wiped away some of his tears. 

“It’s fine. I could use the company.” Owen offered his hand to help Curt up from the ground, and Curt grasped it, pulling himself up as well. Once he was up, Curt was closer to Owen. They were only inches apart. Tentatively, Owen raised a hand and wiped away the rest of Curt’s tears. When he realized how weird it must have been, he quickly drew his hand back. Well, he tried, as Curt grabbed it before he could. 

They stayed like that for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes and bathing in each other’s warmth. Owen was the first to make a move, leaning in. Curt met him in the middle. 

Owen kissed like a  _ professional _ . 

It was tender, but passionate, odd, but driven. Part of Curt said that it was inappropriate for him to be making out with someone right by his mother’s grave, but another part of Curt reasoned that it was probably what his mother wanted, and he was probably being cheered on by her right this minute. It was something she would do. 

Curt tangled his fingers in Owen’s hair, ravishing in how  _ long _ it was. His tongue explored the other man’s mouth eagerly, having been starved for affection for two long. Owen had one hand gripped at his waist, the other clutched Curt’s arm tightly, though he didn’t mind. 

They stayed like that for what felt like forever, but they eventually realized that they were in the middle of a cemetery, and it was rather inappropriate that they were doing this there. 

“I think that’s the quickest I’ve ever hit it off with someone.” Owen said, amused. Curt chuckled, looking at Owen with sincerity. 

“I think I like you.” Curt spoke slowly. Owen snorted. 

“Oh, I do hope so, considering the tongue bath you just gave me.” They both laughed at that, and when Owen offered his hand to Curt, he took it. 

“Want to go back to my place? Get to know each other better?” He winked, and Curt blushed, but nodded. 

And holding that hand, gazing at that man, Curt felt a calm that he had not felt in quite a long time. 

Curt Mega was not a sentimental man, but perhaps he would learn to be. Perhaps, with Owen by his side, he would learn to not take things for granted. 

And maybe, just maybe, he would learn how to love. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love my boys. Title via my friend I’m on FaceTime with right now that when asked to say something poetic said “titty” and I went “thanks but they’re Gay” so compromise was made. I just wanted to write more for these two. Please comment and kudos, it would mean the world to me. Love y’all ❤️


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